Page 58 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘And what is your verdict?’

‘That deceased came by his death by accident, sir, due to hitting his head on the lamppost.’ He was given some strong, nudging looks. ‘And we would like to add, sir, as there is too much drink taken around the Lanes and we should like to see the pubs closed earlier at night so as to cut it down.’

‘That’s not a matter within my competence,’ the coroner said irritably, and closed the proceedings.

Sebastian held himself deliberately still, aware the inspector was looking at him and frowning. He should not see him slump with relief.

‘I have to go to Portsmouth on business,’ Mr Cowling said, sitting down at the breakfast table with a plate of kedgeree. ‘Would you like to come with me? It would make a nice little change for you, before the London season starts.’

Nina heard the slightly wistful tone in his voice and before she looked up from her eggs and bacon was able to assemble her expression into something receptive.

‘Portsmouth?’ she queried.

‘We could stay at the Queens – that’s a nice hotel. And there are things for you to see while I’m busy. There’s a cathedral, and the dockyard where you can walk along the ramparts – that’s nice on a fine day. And there’s Nelson’s flagship, the Victory – she’s moored there.’

‘It would be interesting to see the very spot where Nelson fell,’ Nina said. Like every English child she had learned about Nelson and Trafalgar at school, along with Wellington and Waterloo: the high points in all of history.

Mr Cowling shook his head. ‘I’m not sure you can still go on board – she’s in very poor condition. The King was talking about it when I saw him last. She’s all but rotted away – the Admiralty won’t fork out to maintain the poor old girl. They wanted to scrap her last year, but the King wouldn’t allow it. He said it was a damned disgrace that she’d been let go so badly, especially with it being a hundred years this year since Trafalgar.’

‘Of course – 1805,’ Nina said. ‘Will there be special celebrations?’

‘The King’s all for it.’

‘With a special holiday for school children?’ Nina suggested.

‘I think the twenty-first of October is a Saturday this year. But still . . .’ He ate some kedgeree. ‘The King hopes a big celebration might raise some money for restoration, but she’d still need maintaining year by year, and where’s that to come from? So you’d better have a look at her while she’s still afloat.’

‘But you haven’t said why you’re going to Portsmouth.’

‘Oh, a business opportunity’s come up.’

‘Another glove factory?’

‘A potted-meat company.’

‘Potted meat?’

‘And fish paste. They sell it in porcelain jars, sealed with butter. You might have seen it on the shelves in grocers’ shops. Feltham’s.’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve never eaten it, though.’

‘Well, it’s a good little family business that’s failing for lack of investment. The owner, James Feltham, is getting on and wants to retire, and he’s two sons, neither of ’em very keen on meat and fish pastes. They’d like to sell the whole thing and share the money, and good luck to ’em. You can’t run a business properly if your heart’s not in it.’

‘So what would you be buying?’

‘They’ve a factory on the Camber in Portsmouth, and a shop in the town. They started up with fish paste and potted shrimps because it’s right where the fishing fleet comes in, and then James Feltham’s dad married a chicken farmer’s daughter from the West Country and they went into potted chicken as well.’ He looked to see if she was really interested, and she nodded encouragingly. ‘What I’m thinking, you see, is that this is something we could export all over the world, same as we do the jam.’

‘Oh, that’s what caught your interest,’ Nina said. ‘I was wondering how fish paste fitted into your schemes.’

‘Aye, well, it’s a similar problem. We couldn’t export the jam in glass jars, and in the same way, they couldn’t export the paste in porcelain jars: too heavy, and sealing with butter wouldn’t do on a long voyage to hot countries. So they never got the business any further. But if we were to put it into sterilised glass jars, with a sealed metal lid – well, the globe’s the limit! It’d increase home sales too. It’s nice for a picnic in a sandwich, or on toast for your tea. If we get the costs down, so it’s in reach of ordinary working folk, we could have it on every table, in every larder. A household name.’

‘Like Harvey’s jam.’

‘Exactly.’ He looked pleased that she had understood. ‘And the middling folk, too – they can’t afford foie gras and caviar, but in a nice, dainty glass jar with a pretty label, they won’t mind having potted chicken or sardine paste on their table instead.’

‘You sound as if your mind is made up to buy it,’ Nina said.

‘Well, I have to look at the books first, see what condition it’s in. I wish to God I had Decius with me for this, but I can’t spare him from the London office yet.’